


the spoils of war

by light_loves_the_dark



Series: a terribly suited couple [2]
Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Adam is a Good Dad, Aged Up Lydia, BJ talks endlessly during sex don't @ me, Beetlejuice Has Mood Ring Hair (Beetlejuice), Beetlejuice is Very Kinky, Beetlejuice is a Wife Guy, Canon Compliant - Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Smut, Ghost Bondage?, Lydia is a Photojournalist, Lydia is in her 20s, Musicalbabes, Possessive Behavior, So is Chuck He's Just Awkward, This is literally based off that 'pass the salt daddy' meme, but very consensual, i guess?, so is Lydia, this is very dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_loves_the_dark/pseuds/light_loves_the_dark
Summary: Betelgeuse thinks for a long moment, affecting a dramatically pensive expression. “Listen. I love ya, so I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, hair turning a brighter green as he tries an excitable, innocent grin on for size.Lydia isn’t stupid; her husband is innocent in the same way murder is a virtue.  “And what’s in it for you?”He grins, leaning forward.“Nothing much. Just the next time you say that word,” he says, breath icy cool on her face, “I get one night. Whatever I want.”-aka the one where lydia has to reintroduce bj to the fam as her husband, adam is the best dad, and bj, well, it’s his turn to get the better end of a deal.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland
Series: a terribly suited couple [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064576
Comments: 13
Kudos: 81





	the spoils of war

**Author's Note:**

> y'all this is so dirty. i'm so sorry. i just want someone to draw the 'pass the salt meme' for beetlebabes so this is basically just me trying to inspire artists lmao. this is kinda a sequel to my other fic, but i think you can read it without reading that one if you want to! 
> 
> bj and lydia have pretty kinky sex in this one so if you're not into that, maybe don't read! otherwise, i hope you guys enjoy <3 
> 
> title from 'step right up' from the demos bc that bj has strong possessive energy. don't mess with my girl, amirite?

Despite their outward differences and quirks, Betelgeuse and Lydia rarely argue. 

After all, most topics are irrelevant. They can’t argue about what kind of food to get, because only Lydia eats. They don’t argue about where to go, because they follow Lydia’s work and Betelgeuse doesn’t really care where he is as long as Lydia is there. They almost never argue about who to scare; their system of harmlessly scaring teenagers and leaving their more guilty victims with painful bruises and a lifetime of psychological issues is relatively foolproof. 

There’s only one thing left to argue about, and if Lydia is honest with herself, it’s less about what her husband wants, and more about the kick she gets out of holding it over his head.

She’s zipping up their tent for the night, deep in the Alaskan wilderness to take photographs of the illegal drilling that’s happening in the sea below, when he brings it up for the third time that week. “No, Betelgeuse,” she replies, firm and unforgiving, keeping her back to him so he doesn’t see the smirk that creeps across her lips. 

“Why not?” He parries, flopping onto her cot like he’s a toddler and she’s refusing to give him his favorite toy. 

“ _Beej_.” 

“Come _on,_ baby,” he whines, but it’s clearly an act as he continues to eye her like he could eat her up. “Ya let me tie you up. You think it’s hot when I’m in control. Hell, you like it when I call you baby - this is a logical progression of those facts!” 

Lydia folds her arms over her chest, fixing him with her most imperious look. “Beej, I’m twenty-six years old. I am _not_ calling you Daddy.” 

His eyes darken, even as she says the word in the coldest, most unsexy way possible. “Oh baby, say it again.” He slowly rises to his feet, taking a menacing step toward her. 

“No way, you pervert,” she says, holding up her hands. “Now, I’m freezing - can we sleep?”

He raises an eyebrow, not willing to let it go. “I have a better way to warm you up,” he tries, floating above her bed while crooking a finger in her direction. 

She rolls her eyes. “Uh, no thanks.” 

“Lyds…”

“No!” She retorts, only realizing after the fact that it comes out a little sharper than she intends. 

Betelgeuse isn’t stupid, especially when it comes to reading her. He sobers up, eyes scanning her face for an excuse for her abruptness. “You usually like our games, babes. What gives?” She looks away, but not before his confusion clears, and he sends her a smug grin. “This is about your folks, ain’t it?”

She shrugs, unwilling to equivocate. It’s not worth it. “We’ll be there tomorrow, and I’m still not convinced you’re not going to scare them to death.” She’s already in uncertain waters with her four parental figures; she hasn’t seen them for several years since they bailed her out of a bad situation. Since she realized they didn’t trust her with her own safety. 

Betelgeuse thinks for a long moment, affecting a dramatically pensive expression. Then his eyes light up, and he swoops forward, taking both her hands in his. “Listen. I love ya, so I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, hair turning a brighter green as he tries an excitable, innocent grin on for size. 

Lydia is also not stupid; her husband is innocent in the same way murder is a virtue. “No way,” she retorts, pulling one of her hands from his grip to tap him on the nose, softening her denial. “Your deals are always weighed in your favor, and remember, I’m not an easy mark.” 

He gives her a smarmy grin, catching her hand as it retreats from his nose and pressing a gallant kiss to the back of it. “Oh sweetness, I _know,_ ” he murmurs, before pouting: “Lyds, I wanna make this easier for you.”

 _This is a bad idea,_ she thinks, but then again, she has a history of being unable to resist his games. Mostly because she loves to win, to bring him to his knees, but as she’s gotten older, she’s started to recognize the attraction in losing as well. “What are you proposing?” She asks softly, coquettishly, pulling her hand from his mouth and reaching around to tug at his green hair. 

The strand she tugs turns a dark pink; his eyelids flutter as his mouth opens in a silent moan, and she once again marvels at her ability to affect him. Once he’s regained control of himself, his glittering eyes dart to her ring, clearly remembering their last deal. “Nothing much, babes. I promise to keep the scares and quips towards your folks to a minimum.”

She backs away slightly, trying to gain some perspective. “And what’s in it for you?” 

He grins, leaning forward and reclaiming the distance between them. “Nothing much. Just the next time you say _that_ word,” he says, breath icy cool on her face, “I get one night. Whatever I want.” 

_Oh._ Lydia knows what that means. 

She’s apprehensive, but it’s a fun kind of anxiety. She’s been withholding this card for a while; sure, because it makes her slightly uncomfortable, but mostly because he wants it so badly. Betelgeuse is the kinkiest person she’s ever met; he comes to her all the time with ideas that she had previously thought only existed in porn, only to find that she likes them almost as much as he does. But they usually don’t involve things she’s sensitive about.   
  
And she’s sensitive about _that_ word. And she might not have said it in so many words to her husband, but Betelgeuse is clever, and more than that, he knows her. Knows what she’s been through with her dad, knows what she’s still missing from that relationship. And she knows that Betelgeuse would like nothing more than to press on that bruise until she comes apart beneath him. From the unnatural intensity with which he’s now waiting for her reaction, she can tell he’s practically salivating at the thought of it. 

She leans forward to match him, a little drunk herself with what he’ll promise just to get her to say a single word. She knows he likes to clamour and beg until she gives him power over her. He doesn’t mind giving her the reins, but only if she sates him with the power and control every once in a while. It’s his natural state: to be in control. To be calm and cool and dark as he tortures his victims. She’s the exception, and she loves it. 

From the way he’s looking at her right now, hungry and wanting and sly, she wonders if she’s withheld this particular card for too long. She hasn’t found her husband’s breaking point, and she’s not really looking to drive him over the edge just yet. A deal is just what she needs. “Whatever?” She clarifies, assuming _‘whatever’_ really means _‘working her over until she says whatever he tells her to.’_

He shrugs. “Well, you’ve got the safeword, babe, but we both know that’s not an option for you.” 

She knows he’s talking big game here; the safeword is a nuclear option, but it’s always been one nonetheless. He likely means that he’ll never let her live it down, which is probably worse than not doing what he wants. 

She sighs. “I’m going to regret this…” She’s quite good at suppressing the smirk that comes with their play, but she knows her eyes betray her, so she looks down. 

He hooks a thick, long finger under her chin, forcing her gaze to his. When he sees the intrigued look in her eyes, he swallows reflexively, Adam's apple bobbing, a residual instinct from his life. Her eyes get stuck on the motion, and her mouth goes dry. “What’s your answer, then?” He rasps, licking his lips. 

“Give me one night to let them get used to the idea of you, and we have a deal,” she agrees, before trying to move away. 

“Fair enough,” he says, holding her fast when she goes to pull away. “Aw, c’mon, honey, we gotta seal the deal, don’t we?”

She grins at him, sticking out a hand. “Shake on it?”

“I have a better idea,” he replies drily, dropping to his knees as he tugs at the waistband of her sweatpants. “You need to relax, _let go._ You don’t even gotta return the favor, baby.” 

She eyes the bulge in his pants. “Yeah, because it looks like I won’t need to,” she observes. Her husband loves conning and dealing the same way he loves screams, and god knows he’s gotten her to agree to a good one. He’s probably already on the edge. “Alright, then,” she agrees, affecting a careless air. “Let’s see if you’re on your game tonight.” She flops back onto the cot, allowing him to disrobe her. 

He shoves his way in between her thighs, tongue lolling at the sight of her exposed and ready for him. “For you, _dear_ , I’m always on my game,” he murmurs, and those are the last sounds out of them for the night except Betelgeuse’s softs grunts and Lydia’s moans of encouragement. 

-

The house looks the same as the last time she saw it. She’s not sure why she was expecting it to look different. 

Betelgeuse is a constant, surprisingly comforting presence at her back as they approach the porch, leaving behind a rental car in the driveway. Her husband had whisked them here with some juice, but Lydia isn’t about to have their cover blown by magically appearing in her parents’ living room.

“Lydia!” 

The first one out of the house is, predictably, Delia, who flies down the porch and wraps her up in a tight hug. 

“Hey, Delia,” she greets, patting her step-mom awkwardly on the back. “How are you?”

Delia pulls back, but leaves her hands on Lydia’s forearms as she drags her up the stairs. “Oh, perfect now that you’re here,” Delia gushes, and a little bit of the ball of anxiety in Lydia’s chest lessens. Delia’s not one to hold a grudge, but this is a better welcome than even she had anticipated. “You’re just in time for dinner! Barbara’s kitchen, as you know, but I made the salad.”

“Kale?” Lydia teases.

Delia gasps, but Lydia can see the fond twinkle in her eye. Delia plays the absent-minded artist type, but she’s also been the one to talk to Lydia about taking care of herself, being safe, and most importantly, having sex. Her fun facade hides a smart woman who’s been let down too many times, and Lydia can relate to feeling unwanted by the people around you. “Never,” she replies, pulling Lydia through the door. 

Adam is the first to hug her as she crosses the threshold, and Lydia lets herself sink into the fatherly embrace. She keeps an ear out for Betelgeuse, but he’s staying silent and unnoticeable, a situation that’s unlikely to remain that way for long. She needs to clear the air with all of them before telling them about her husband, all before he finds a way to make himself known. If there’s anything Betelgeuse hates, it’s being invisible. 

“It’s good to see you, Lydia,” Adam murmurs, and she returns the sentiment with a chaste kiss on his cheek. Adam is the other parent she hadn’t been concerned about. 

Now it’s time for the two that worry her. 

When she pulls back from Adam, she hears her dad’s steps on the landing. “Is that Lydia?” He calls. 

Lydia nudges Adam with a smirk. “Were you guys expecting someone else?”

Adam grins. “You know your dad.” 

Charles starts down the stairs, and Lydia stiffens, watching as he approaches her. “You look… well,” he says, awkward and uncertain, taking her back to those early days after her mom’s death. 

“Thanks, dad,” she says, trying to brush away the memories. She wants to clear the air, but she’s also not interested in being the only one to apologize. 

Charles just looks at her for a long moment, and she can hear Delia inhale and hold her breath behind her. Lydia waits, affecting a welcoming, patient expression as she tries to look like she’s ready to hear whatever he has to say. “Lydia-”

“Dinner’s ready!” Comes Barbara’s call. 

Her father looks like he has whiplash, and she hears a ghostly chuckle right next to her ear. It’s soft enough that only she hears it, but she slowly gives him the finger behind her back anyway. Her husband goes silent, and she exhales. “We’ll catch up after dinner,” she says, trying to throw her dad a line. 

He nods and smiles, and they head into the dining room. 

-

The dinner is… surprisingly peaceful. 

In hindsight, this should have been Lydia’s first indicator that something is going to go horribly wrong. 

Delia and Adam keep the conversation moving, but that’s not unusual. Barbara is more congenial than Lydia had expected, smiling and asking if she plans to hang out with her old high school friends while she’s in town. Lydia can tell she doesn’t want to talk about the fight they had last time, and laments that the news about Betelgeuse is forcing her to confront Charles and Barbara sooner than she’d like. 

Still. It can wait for after dinner. 

Speaking of dinner, Lydia tries to hide her grimace at the first sip of soup. It’s not bad, but Barbara tends to go light on the seasoning because she can’t taste for herself. Lydia weighs the insult of asking for spices against eating bland food, and she decides Barbara is likely too caught up in her being home to be offended. She looks for the salt; it’s between Charles and Adam, just out of her reach. 

“Where’d you rent your car from, honey?” Delia is saying. 

“The airport,” she replies, before stretching out her hand, “Can you pass the salt, daddy?” 

Adam and Charles both reach for the salt, but recoil with a faint grin and a nod at each other. That sheepish camaraderie turns to horror when a smirking Betelgeuse fades into view, absently flicks a finger, and sends the shaker directly into Lydia’s hand. 

The table is silent for a long moment, then erupts into pandemonium . 

“What the _hell_ are you doing in this house?” Barbara screams, standing almost in tandem with every other entity in the room except Lydia, who is fighting the urge to drop her head into her hands. She had to say _that_ word. How is she so turned around by this situation that she managed to say the one word that would bring chaos crashing down around them? 

“You’re not welcome here,” Adam sputters, pointing at the demon floating over their table. 

“What are you doing here?” Charles demands, repeating Barbara’s sentiments as he stumbles back from the table. “Lydia, get back!” 

Betelgeuse lazily flips around, casting a knowing, smug grin her way. “Yeah, babes, get back! You never know when you’re gonna get coerced into another marriage with everyone’s favorite, neighborhood ghost - say, you still have that red dress? Bet you really fill it out now,” he flirts, making a show of looking her up and down. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Charles’ face going red, and knows the same would be said for her ghost parents if there were any blood left in their veins. Delia is surprisingly quiet, and when Lydia glances her way, she sees her inching back toward the fireplace poker. 

There’s nothing for it. She’s going to have to explain. 

“Enough, Betelgeuse,” she says, sending him a meaningful glare. He winks at her, disappearing in an ostentatious flash of light. 

Barbara turns on her, eyes wide. “Did you know he was here?” She demands. 

Lydia sighs. “Yes, I knew.”

“You brought him into this house, without even giving us notice, after all that he did to us? He nearly killed me-” 

Adam still looks angry and a little bit terrified, but he also sees the way Lydia flinches back, and puts a hand on his wife’s arm. “Barbara…”

“No, Adam! He’s a monster, and I don’t want him-”

“Don’t call him that,” Lydia interjects, voice cold. 

Barbara just gapes at her, and Charles takes over. “If he’s done something to you… if he’s hurt you-”

Lydia sees red. “The only thing he’s done is protect me,” she spits, “which is more than I can say about you.” Charles flinches, and Lydia feels a paign of regret. They’re all far too angry to have this conversation now. “I can’t deal with this right now,” she says, taking a step back. “We can talk in the morning.” 

“Lydia-” Adam tries. 

“Good night,” she cuts him off, bounding up the stairs. The last thing she hears are raised voices before she slams her door shut. 

-

She’s not left alone to mope for long. There’s a soft knock at her door, and only one person it could be. 

“Come in,” she calls. 

Adam opens the door, taking a step into her old bedroom before shutting it behind him. There’s a long silence where he waits for her to say something else, before realizing she’s leaving the ball in his court. “Uh - where’s Bete- where is he?” He tries, stumbling over the name like he hasn’t thought of the demon once since he disappeared from their lives all those years ago. Lydia knows this isn’t true, but it still stings a little. Betelgeuse has always been a taboo subject in the house, even when she would’ve done anything to share a funny anecdote of their time together.

It hadn’t been all bad. Not for her.

She shrugs off his question. “He’s probably waiting for me to cool down before he demands some sort of compensation for not turning the dining room into a funhouse.” 

Adam looks confused. “Compensation? What is he-” He catches her soft blush, before turning red himself. “ _Oh._ You two…?”

She can’t help herself, laughing at the shock in his tone. She can tell he’s taking pains not to sound disgusted, and she relaxes a little. “Some days I can’t believe it either.” She pats the bed next to her. “Come sit, if you want. I’m sure you have a million questions, and the longer you’re here, the longer I can put off seeing that idiotic, smug grin.” 

Adam gives her a tight, but warm smile, brushing invisible lint off his pants before sitting. He has always been her most sane, most reasonable parent. Delia is fun, but chaotic and unreliable. Barbara is loving, but also smothering and a little too uptight. And her father and she have a rocky enough past that they’re still trying to work through, even a decade later. 

Adam, on the other hand, has always listened to her problems, from grades to boys to bullies. He might end up following along with what Barbara wants when her decisions become the subject of family meetings - she’s still a little bitter at him for siding with the rest of her parents when she was kidnapped - but when they’re alone, he is great for both comfort and advice. 

That said, she’s never dared speak with him about Betelgeuse, so she’ll have to play it safe here. 

“I’m sorry about… all that. I wanted you to meet him under the best circumstances, but,” she gestures at the air, “clearly that was too much to ask of him.” 

Adam takes this in. “How long has he been back?” He asks finally, not quite looking her in the eye. 

“About two years,” she murmurs, grimacing at the way Adam’s eyes widen and dart to her, like she’s just told him the world is flat. “I know, I know! But we weren’t talking, and he was just there to protect me… at first.” 

Adam audibly swallows. If she wasn’t already on edge, it’d be comical. “At first?” He says, tentative and high. 

Lydia can’t help but smile. Her memories of the easy friendship that blossomed between her husband and her in those early days are precious. “We were… friends. Good friends. You know, we understand each other.” 

Adam chuckles at that, nudging her shoulder. “I’ll never forget those three days. Barbara and I were terrified, of course, but you two sounded like you were having the time of your life.” 

Lydia jumps on this moment of softness. “He was just as invisible as I was,” she explains, praying that some part of Adam will understand. “I know he’s an emotionally stunted trainwreck. And I know he’s not what you probably… imagined me bringing home.” Adam snorts at this, but she plows on. “But he’s saved my life multiple times. He listens to me; he doesn’t care how strange I am, because he’s just as unusual.” 

Adam turns his whole body to face hers, his expression fading into something much more serious. “He’s a conman,” he says, apologetic almost, like he’s giving her information she doesn’t know. “He nearly killed Barbara, and he… propositioned us… multiple times. How do you know…?” He trails off, as if he doesn’t know how to ask the question he wants to. 

Something in Lydia’s chest tightens. “What? How do I know he really cares about me?” Adam just looks at her like she’s at the root of the issue, and Lydia suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she wracks her brain for something to convince him. When she does, she makes sure to look him straight in the eye. “Dad, he didn’t convince me to do anything. Not be with him, not marry him, nothing. In fact, he was about to walk away.” 

The ‘dad’ comment is a bit underhanded, just because she knows how happy it makes him when she acknowledges his role in her life. Still, the knowing look fades and instead, he looks curious. “What do you mean?”

Lydia inhales. _Don’t mess this up._ “Our marriage has been valid since _that_ night,” she explains, and though Adam looks uncertain, he encourages her with a nod. “He made a deal with me - my protection at dangerous sites for five years, and then I’d marry him again so he could come alive.”

“But you were already married?” Adam questions, confused. 

Lydia nods. “Yes, so he was never going to get anything out of the deal.”

Something in his expression clears, and he exhales with a faint smile. “Just time with you.”

Lydia gives him her own smile in return. “Eventually, it came out that we were still married - that the whole deal was a sham. He told me how he felt and that he wouldn’t hold me to our deal.” She trembles at the memory, at how close she had been to being too shocked to call him back. “And then he tried to leave. But I couldn’t - I just, I knew that-” She stops, swallowing back those pesky emotions. She needs to remain clear headed if she’s going to change Adam’s mind.

She peeks up at him, surprised to see a surprised, soft look on his own face. “Oh, honey,” he says, and nothing else. 

Lydia can’t help it; she wraps her hands around his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I know,” she says quietly. 

They stay like that for a long moment. She can hear the wheels turning in his head, but she knows deep down that she’s at least gotten through to him a little. “It’s not going to be easy,” he says finally, confirming her suspicions. “He did a lot of damage.”

Lydia hums against him, keeping her head on his shoulder. “So did I. So did Dad.” 

Adam sighs, and she can tell she’s won. “I’ll talk to Barbara,” he offers. “And the others. I can’t promise anything, but maybe a second chance-”

Lydia pulls back just so she can throw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly. He holds her back, gentle hands patting her back. “I just want us to be a family again,” she murmurs against his neck.

“Three humans, two ghosts, and one demon?”

She shrugs. “It’s messy, but it’s what we’ve got.”

Adam ruffles her hair when she pulls back. “Well, you’re not any taller, but you have grown up on us, huh?” he says, ignoring her affectionate groan at his lame joke. She loves them, and he knows it. “Promise me you won’t go so long between visits again?”

Lydia nods. “If you guys give him a chance, I promise,” she swears, wondering how she’s now going to wrangle her husband into at least not causing any heart attacks. “Me and him, we’re a team now,” she adds, wanting to make it clear how much she needs this to work. 

As soon as Adam is gone, she collapses back on her childhood bed, closing her eyes and trying to compose herself. God knows she won’t have much time before-

A ghostly chuckle echoes throughout the room.

 _Before that,_ she thinks grimly. 

Her lights flicker and dim, casting the room in a faint glow. Before she can even sit up, her door slams and locks. Lydia stands, shivering at the wash of cold, damp air flooding the room. Her heart beats fast in anticipation, and she knows her husband has come to collect. 

“A team, huh?” 

She looks around, unable to see him in the darkness. She wonders if he’s even made himself visible yet. “That’s what I said,” she says, wary. 

“Y’know something about team members, Lyds?” He fades into being in the armchair in the corner of her room, and she takes two steps in the opposite direction. Only when there’s at least eight feet of space between them does she study him; he’s bent over the chair, chin propped on his hands as he looks her up and down, a smug, grinning demon wrapped in dirty stripes. “They honor their deals,” he continues when she stays silent. 

She’s not planning on making this easy for him. “You weren’t on your best behavior,” she accuses, taking a few steps to the side so the bed is between them. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, barely even blinking. 

He stands at that, brushing off his sleeves. He looks taller, bigger, something she knows he’s fully capable of if he wants to appear more menacing. He’s moving slowly, like a lazy predator. “No scares, no snide comments…” He lists, ticking off his fingers. “I disappeared to let you deal with your crazy folks, I said and did nothing when Chuck and Barbara were accusing me of some pretty nasty stuff…”

They both know she finds it hot when he’s in control, but this is doing it for her in ways she hadn’t imagined. She tries to hide her reflexive swallow as her body flushes with heat, but he’s more attuned to her body that she is. His eyes flash in return. “Okay, okay,” she acknowledges, holding up a hand, “but you weren’t supposed to show yourself tonight.” 

He shrugs, spreading his arms wide. “What can I say, baby? You said my name.” 

“That is _not_ your name,” she says, letting her eyes dart to the door. His gaze follows the movement eagerly, and he raises an eyebrow as if daring her. 

“You agreed to the deal. As far as your cute little ass is concerned, tonight that _is_ my name.” 

He rocks back on his heels, and she takes the chance, sprinting for the exit. He is, of course, both stronger and faster than her, and he’s on her before she can make it more than two steps. She slams against his chest, but before his arms can grasp her, she backs up into the corner of the room. 

He grins, horrible and taunting in a way that should terrify her, but only sends a bolt of heat down her spine. “You ain’t going nowhere, babycakes. Now, explain yourself to your dear, departed husband.” His voice goes low and husky on the last word; he likes to remind her as much as possible that they’re married, as if he’s making up for the years she went about her life unaware of his claim on her. 

She wracks her brain for counter arguments, desperate to keep the tension building. “I wasn’t talking about you,” she blurts out. 

He backs her against the wall in earnest this time; she can feel the coolness of his unnecessary breath on her face, smell the musty, dark scent of dead flowers and graveyards emanating from his body. He’s careful not to touch her, and paradoxically, it makes her feel him all the more. “Then who were you talking about, Lydia?” He moves closer, pressing his hands against the wall and leaning down so his mouth just barely brushes her ear. “And if you lie to me, _I’ll know_.” 

She just stares up at him, cold and defiant and _anticipatory_. “I have two dads, Betelgeuse, and you are not one of them.” A slight smile crooks at the corner of her mouth. 

“Are you sure you wanna do this, little girl?” He rasps, but he backs away slightly, giving her a genuinely curious look. 

Lydia’s grin fades for a brief moment, and she nods, reaching out and running her fingertip down the lapel of his suit. “I like a challenge,” she says, loftily. “Although I don’t see how this will-” 

In a split second, he spins her to face the wall, crowding her up until she has no space to move. His gut presses into the small of her back, holding her in place as he rips off his jacket. “So nice of you to wear a skirt for me, baby,” he rasps, rucking up the fabric and yanking down her underwear in one motion, rolling his hips against her bare ass. The feel of the rough, grimy fabric of his pants makes Lydia shudder; she’d die before admitting it’s what’s inside that makes goosebumps scatter down her arms. “Reminds me of that little gothy dress you used to wear, yeah? All lacy and cute? I bet it’d rip to shreds so easy. It sure did in my head.” 

Lydia’s breath hitches at the implication, and he chuckles. “Oh, ya like that, baby? Reminding you of the olden days? It would've happened eventually, if Chuck hadn’t come back and ruined the party. Just you and me in the house… and all those _screams...”_ He jerks his hips against hers in earnest, securing a strong arm around her waist. “I would’ve needed some relief, and I had your sweet little body, didn’t I?” 

“You also had your own hand, pervert,” she bites out. 

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, an invisible force pulls her hands to the wall, flat against the surface on each side of her head. They’re spread wide, forcing her cheek against the cool, black wallpaper. When she tries to wiggle free, nothing happens. 

“That wasn’t very nice, baby. Rude little girls don’t need their hands, do they?” 

She struggles against him, and he lets her, one hand groping her breast through her blouse while the other cups her pussy. He’s careful not to rub or stimulate her in any way, and she squirms more violently, legs closing to try to get him to do _something_. 

He’s not having any of it. He spins her around in a dizzying movement, kicking her legs apart and hitching his knee between them, raising her up until she’s as good as strung up for his taking. Her arms are recaptured, pinning her to the wall as her husband drops to his knees. After disappearing her skirt and blouse with one flick of his wrist, he licks a long stripe up her bare pussy, and she throws her head back, knocking it against the wall. 

“When you want me to stop, you know what to say,” he reminds her. 

“Don’t stop,” she gasps, and he smirks. 

“Careful what you wish for,” he warns, eyes dark and almost threatening, and Lydia has only a brief moment to wonder what he has planned for her before her mind goes blank. 

He laps at her clit with his dexterous tongue for what seems like hours, bringing her to the edge and then pulling back, licking his lips as he watches her come down. He encourages her whimpers and moans, which she tries to keep to a minimum out of pride. Her limbs turn to jelly after the fifth time, and she’s sure her shoulders will be sore tomorrow despite the way he holds her up at her hips with one strong hand. His tongue elongates and twists inside her pussy; it feels unnatural, strange, but so good that Lydia knows deep down that he’s it for her in bed. No one can ever satisfy her the way he can, and he knows it, the bastard. He’s watching her, careful and clever, tracking each reaction, eyes never leaving her face for long as he gets off on her suffering. 

She gives up on staying quiet after her sixth edge. “You make such pretty sounds, baby,” he says, casual as anything as she twists and squirms in his grip, breathless little gasps and whines leaving her throat without her permission. Heat is building in her abdomen where he holds her firm, one large arm keeping her from thrusting her hips towards him with the kind of ease that makes her burn. This strong, powerful demon bends to her will. Follows her around the world. 

It’s easy to forget, and she’s sure that’s why he loves reminding her. 

“Please,” she encourages, trying desperately to bring her hips closer to his mouth to no avail. The entire world has narrowed to his mouth on her, his goading and teasing echoing load and strange in her ears.

He simply smirks up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Please, _what_?” 

“Betelgeuse, I wanna come, please,” she pleads, but she knows it won’t work. It’s not what he wants. She’s hanging onto her sanity by a thread. 

He growls, words suddenly and unusually absent, but the bright, brief flame of red in his hair alerts her that she might be pushing him too far. He dives in with his fingers and his tongue, and Lydia knows deep down that she can only keep this up for a little longer. She wants to fold, wants to try it. Her inhibitions are gone. 

He pulls back, one finger left in her, unmoving. She almost screams, opening her mouth to try to form any sort of words, and he looks up, waiting impatiently for her response. 

“Let me come,” she begs. 

“ _Say my name_ ,” he growls. 

She breaks like a wave over his unyielding sand. “D-daddy,” she whimpers. She’ll never tell him that her body jolts helplessly at the smug grin that spreads across his face, the strand of red curling into a deep fuchsia to match the rest of his messy hair. The name itself makes her flush, and he doesn’t miss it, almost guaranteeing they’ll revisit this type of play in the future.

She has to admit that she wouldn’t mind. 

But it seems he’s not done gloating as he rises to his feet, towering over her, leaving his hand cupping her pussy like a warning. His other hand comes up to play with her hair, a mock-tender gesture. “C’mon, doll, that’s nothing,” he goads. 

“ _Daddy_!” She half-shouts, cringing at the thought of any other occupant in the house hearing them. 

Betelgeuse doesn’t have the same reservations. If anything, her noises make him more aroused, and he leans in, licking the shell of her ear. She breathes the dangerous word again as he moves to look at her wrecked expression, his eyes alight with triumph. He takes his hand away from her core instead of finishing her off, and she honest-to-god whines in response. “Mmm. _Smart_ girl.” 

She doesn’t want praise. She wants to _come_. “Daddy, please fuck me,” she says, batting her eyelashes. Might as well use it now that she’s caved.

Betelgeuse merely chuckles, suddenly impervious to the word he was begging her to say just moments ago, tugging on her hair. “Baby, I really wanna, _trust me_ , but you’ve been such a bad girl.” His hand tightens in her hair, thrusting down so she has to collapse on her knees to keep from being in pain. “So here’s how the chips are gonna fall: you’re gonna suck Daddy off.” He reaches down, rubbing a thumb along her lower lip. He gives her a smarmy grin. “Then we’ll see, hm?”

“But-”

“ _Now._ ” 

His hand tightens in her hair, guiding her head toward his cock. A flash of apprehension hits Lydia; this is the first blowjob she’s given him where he’s taken control like this, and she can’t help the nervousness that wells up inside her. 

For a brief moment, his eyes flash with trepidation and concern, and it loosens the ball of anxiety in her chest. For all his bluster, he has never done something to her that she doesn’t want. “Okay?” He checks, barely audible. 

“Yes,” she agrees verbally. 

His smirk returns in an instant. “Yes, _what_?” He urges, eyes hooded and dark as they look down at her on her knees before him. 

She tilts her chin up, trying her best not to roll her eyes. From his raised eyebrow, it doesn’t work. “Yes, daddy,” she says dutifully. 

He grins, large and dark. “Open wide for me, baby,” he orders, pressing the thumb on her lower lip down until her mouth falls open. He guides his cock inside, and Lydia scrambles to relax and press her tongue flat so he can fit without causing her discomfort. Despite her best efforts, her jaw still aches from the sheer size of him. His eyes are hot on her mouth, glassy and dark. She knows he loves how small she is compared to him - that he gets him off on seeing her struggle as she tries to take him down her throat. She reaches up to grasp the base of his cock, her fingers barely meeting as they circle it, and he shivers helplessly, taking her head in his hands and pushing her down in retaliation. 

She’s not entirely in her right mind anymore, and it’s a unique kind of submission. Her world is filled with his damp, moldy scent and his breathless moans. Her empty pussy burns as he uses her mouth to work over his cock like she’s nothing more than a doll. There’s usually power that comes from having a guy’s dick in your mouth, but Lydia doesn’t feel it now. Sure, Betelgeuse is falling apart above her, empty threats and promises dripping from his throat in between hitched breaths and long moans. If she wanted, she could pull herself up and take a more active role until he has to bend to her will, but he’s worked her over so badly that she doesn’t want to take control. He shoves her head down, his free hand trailing down her neck to feel his cock in her throat, and she doesn’t gag. She’ll do anything to come, and from the way he’s using her to her limit, he knows it. 

It’s a heady, terrifying feeling. 

She comes back to herself when he growls loudly, breaking her from her thoughts. “Yeah, I let you play, don’t I?” He moans, licking his lips as she tries not to choke on his cock. She’s not sure what he’s talking about, but the gravelly sound of his voice makes her shudder. “You call, I answer. You run, I follow. But baby, that ring means you’re _my_ wife.” A tendril of juice curls around her finger, tightening her ring meaningfully. She hasn’t tried to take it off since South America, and she doesn’t plan to. They both have hard limits, and the ring is her husband’s. Taking it off again would unleash something that she’s not sure she’s prepared for, especially as her husband is now demonstrating how well he can walk right along the line of what she’ll tolerate. 

He pulls her off his cock, chuckling as she collapses, gasping for air as she wipes her mouth. “Aw honey, you okay?” He mocks, lifting her into his arms and tossing her on the bed. “Daddy’s gonna make it better,” he promises, turning her so her face is pressed into the mattress and her ass is in the air.

“You look so pretty like this, baby. You’re my wife, huh?” When she doesn’t respond, he smacks her on the ass. “That was a direct question, doll.” 

“Yes, daddy,” Lydia swears, moaning when Betelgeuse’s cock brushes her exposed pussy. 

“Oh fucking yeah, baby. And your husband is a fucking poltergeist, a real demon straight from hell. And I think you need reminding of what you signed up for,” he says, before pushing inside her in one fell stroke, bottoming out so deep that she feels overstuffed. “Oh _fuck._ ”

Lydia doesn’t even try to suppress the sounds coming from her throat now, pleas and whimpers and moans as her husband grasps her hips and shoves his cock in her, over and over and over. It burns, almost hurts; she’s oversensitive and emotionally exhausted and just wants him to make her forget it all for a moment. His thumbs are digging into her sensitive skin, and bruises are likely to follow, but Lydia doesn't care anymore. Betelgeuse surrounds her: his gut is pressed against her back, his balls slapping her ass, his hands covering every inch of her body. If she was more lucid, she’d want to count them. And best of all, he’s inside her, where he’s meant to be, and if anyone, even her family, tries to tear them apart she’ll fight at his side. 

She wonders if Betelgeuse knows that, knows that she loves him beyond reason, beyond hope. 

She knows that he doesn’t. Her husband, for all of his possessiveness and jealousy and anger, doesn’t think she loves him as much as he loves her. 

That’s going to have to change, if she can remember anything about this night after he’s done fucking her brains out.

He pounds her harder, pulling her up against him so he can speak directly in her ear. His mouth is still wet from her pussy, and she can’t help but lean back against his shoulder. “I used to jerk off to you in that little black dress, baby, is that what you wanna hear? Can you picture it? Me, all alone in the Netherworld, fisting my hard dick, rubbing one out to _you,_ Lydia. I was obsessed. I was always gonna come back for ya, doll, if only just to split your little pussy open on my cock. And you would’ve taken it like a good girl, wouldn’t ya? Just like you’re taking me _now_.” 

“Yes yes yes,” she chants, pushing back against him, head thrown back against his shoulder in ecstasy. One of his hands - she’s still too overcome to count - sneaks around her hip and finds her clit, rubbing furiously. She’s so close, and then he stops.

“No,” she whines. 

He chuckles, but it’s high and strained, and she knows he’s close too. “Whose baby are you, huh? Tell me.”

God, he’s never going to let this go. “I’m yours, daddy,” she moans, far past caring about her pride. 

“That’s fucking right, Lydia. Only mine, you’re _mine_.” He begins rubbing slowly, though his thrusts are still frantic and deep. “I’m the only one who can make you feel like this because I love ya more than anyone else ever could.”

He doesn’t even need to ask for reassurance. She happily gives it unprompted, a combination of warmth and heat falling over her. Leave it to Betelgeuse to throw words of love in between claims of possession and demands for her to beg for him. “Yes, please, _please_ , the only one, I love you, daddy, please let me come, please.”

He nips at her neck, and she can feel the smile he presses there. For all of their play, it’s those three little words that truly make him happy. Not that they’d ever get too mushy about it like other couples. She’d rather scream it at him when he’s balls deep inside her. “Fuck yeah, come for me baby,” he allows, his command shockingly soft and warm. 

He rubs her just the way she likes it and she comes apart, jerking against him as waves of pleasure overcome her body. While in the throes, he pulls out and flips her over, sliding back in as he climbs over her. She stays loose and pliable, allowing him to bend her how he likes. Her limbs feel like jelly, and she winces when he enters her sensitive pussy again. 

He barely notices her at all, anchoring her by her tiny shoulders and he finally lets himself go completely. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mixed with Betelgeuse’s own groans and sighs. “Beg for it,” he growls, when Lydia is too silent for his taste. 

She obliges, trying to form the incoherent thoughts in her brain into words. “C’mon, daddy, please come in me, fill me up please, _Betelgeuse_.” 

It’s his name, his _real_ name, that does it, and he comes hard with her own name on his lips. The way he says it, deep and reverent and satisfied, is for her ears only. The way he looks at her like the entire world could fall to pieces and he wouldn’t care as long as they could stay in this bed… that’s for her too. 

He’s right, after all. No one else could love her like him. 

When comes back to himself, he rolls off of her. Lydia inhales deeply at the loss of pressure, closing her legs and wincing at the stickiness she feels there. She shivers, and he notices, tugging her into his body and wrapping a blanket around her to make up for his lack of body heat. Betelgeuse is a serious post-sex cuddler, and usually she’ll tease him about it, but tonight, she might need it more than him. She stretches an arm across his stomach, letting it hang limp as he tugs on her thigh until she’s half on top of him, just the way he likes it. 

“Are you gonna talk to Chuck?” He asks softly, his large hand making sure her head is tucked into his neck. She knows why; her husband has a deep fear of vulnerability. Of soft, gentle conversations about how he feels. He’s getting better, but he prefers to keep her from seeing his face in these moments. Whether because of the truth in his eyes or his hair color, she isn’t sure, but she allows it. She’s seen the rarer emotions before: the black of fear, the light pink of vulnerability and affection. 

Soon they’re going to have a talk about how much she loves him, but not tonight.

She hums into his shoulder. “I want to,” she admits. It’s a scary thing to admit: that fierce, independent Lydia Deetz wants her father to approve of her life choices. She’s still going to make them regardless, but he’s her last living parent. A part of her will always want him to be proud of her. 

Betelgeuse, for all his faults, knows what it is to need the love of a parent. “You need to, babes,” he tells her, low and serious. 

She sighs. “Okay, I will.”

“Good girl,” he praises with a soft kiss to her temple. 

She looks up at him, grinning. “I didn’t think you cared about my relationship with my dad,” she says.

An odd look passed his face, like he’s about to make a joke but just suddenly decided not to. “I care about you, doll,” he says finally. “Will Chuck and I ever be drinking buddies? Nah. But he’s your dad. You’re gonna be spinning round and round til you make things right.”

Lydia looks surprised. “I expected more of a ‘you got one daddy, you don’t need another.’” She affects his low, gravelly voice, and he chortles at her attempt. 

“One, that’s a terrible impression.” His criticism is dry, droll even, and it causes helpless giggles to rise in her throat. “Two,” he continues, “don’t let that word leave those pretty lips unless you wanna get plowed into this mattress _again_. Three” - here he turns serious - “I ain’t leaving you, Lyds. Never. That’s our deal. But I ain’t gonna cut you off from your folks. S’not cool.”

“Thanks, Beej. Really,” Lydia says, before the earnesty from them both causes the uncomfortable warmth in her chest to expand past where she can manage it. “Y'know, emotional maturity is kinda hot on you,” she teases, ready for a subject change. 

He raises an eyebrow, starting to move over her. “Oh yeah? There’s more where that came from, baby.” 

She laughs, stopping him with a hand to his chest, where little tendrils of pale pink chest hair peek through her fingers. “Uh, no way, bug. I need at least 24 hours of recovery unless you wanna kill me.” 

He settles back without a fuss, pulling the covers up over them. “Nah, that’d be an awkward eternity, dontcha think?”

“Mmm,” she hums, snuggling against him. “Love you,” she adds sleepily. 

The last thing she hears before succumbing to sleep is him returning the sentiment, fond and soft. Tomorrow, they’ll have to face her parents, but tonight, they only have the tattered remains of a deal between them. They’re as close as possible. 

And, though Lydia will never admit it, that’s just the way she likes it.

**Author's Note:**

> bj is a kinky, possessive bastard but also a soft soft husband to lydia and i'll die on that hill. 
> 
> let me know if you liked it!


End file.
